


You Hold the Key

by rivers_bend



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Bruises, Chastity Device, Cock & Ball Torture, Cock Bondage, Dom/sub, Established Relationship, Kink Negotiation, M/M, Painplay, Tattoos, Temperature Play
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-10
Updated: 2013-02-10
Packaged: 2017-11-28 21:06:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,238
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/678893
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rivers_bend/pseuds/rivers_bend
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>“How do you want me?” Harry asks, even though he knows he doesn’t have to ask; Louis will tell him. </em>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Hold the Key

**Author's Note:**

> Fictional events set in a fictional tour. I do not know any of the people whose names and public personas are used, and neither believe nor mean to imply this has happened or ever will.

The first time it’s Louis’ hand, and Harry isn’t expecting it at all. He’s come already, and is supposed to be sucking Louis’ cock, _wants_ to be sucking Louis’ cock. Which is the problem really. It’s so good that he’s hard again, getting a bit distracted humping the mattress, sneaking a hand down to jerk himself, and once or twice getting more teeth involved than Louis is okay with. So Louis pulls him up by the hair, makes him kneel, and then presses the glass of ice water from the bedside table against his dick. “My turn now,” Louis says when Harry flinches away. And he’s got that look that Harry fucking _loves_ , like he’s going to pin Harry down and get whatever he wants from him. Harry wants to give it so so so much, so he leans into the cold, suppresses his shivers, just lets Louis do it until his hard on is pretty much gone. He maybe whimpers just a little bit when Louis lets the glass press too long against his balls, but he doesn’t complain. 

When Louis finally puts the glass aside, he wraps his cold hand tight around Harry’s junk, splitting his balls with the shaft of Harry’s cock, tugging the whole thing down between his thighs. “Now suck me,” he says. 

Harry’s never done it from this angle, and it’s awkward, and he has to hunch over his own knees and Louis’ arm to get to Louis’ dick, and he’s all sideways, but it’s still so good. The taste and smell of his boyfriend, and the sounds Louis makes, and Harry’s getting all turned on again, and he’s scared, a delicious thrill of fear, because Louis’ hand is still on his dick, and he’ll be able to feel as soon as Harry gets hard, except, Harry’s not getting hard. The way Louis is holding him, he _can’t_ get hard. Which makes him even hornier. Like. So fucking much hornier. And his body is desperate to do something about it, but there’s nothing, except to focus more on Louis’ dick, which is most definitely hard, stretching his mouth wide, hitting the back of his throat and making him drool thick and wet, and his dick hurts, but in that delicious way like when Louis won’t stop jerking him even after he’s come. Harry wants to hump and thrust and fuck, but he’s keeping his body so still like Louis’ grip is holding him down as well as keeping him soft, and he wants to _scream_ and he wants Louis to come so Harry can tell him how good it is, how much he likes having Louis holding him like this, having this kind of control over him. 

Because Harry is actually the luckiest boy in the universe, Louis does come, letting Harry’s bits go, letting the blood in so his cock fills, throbbing hard before Harry can even get his breath. He’s still spinning with the sensation of it when Louis rolls him over on his back, sticks a thumb up his arse and jerks him off. It takes him less than a minute to come. 

After that, he can’t find the words to tell Louis how much he liked it. And he’s not sure how to ask him to do it again. 

*

 

The second time, they’re making out on the sofa. Louis has Harry’s hands pinned behind the small of his back, and he’s looming over him, knee snugged tight up against Harry’s junk. Too tight, except for how the way he’s grinding in is sending perfect jolts of _fearpainGOOD_ through Harry’s chest.  
   
“Yeah?” Louis asks when Harry whimpers into his mouth. “You like it? Gonna come?”  
   
Harry nods, grinds even harder on Louis’ knee, and jizzes in his pants.

Before he’s even quite caught his breath, Louis pushes him down against the sofa’s arm and fucks his mouth, coming while Harry’s dick is still twitching with aftershocks.  
   
“Love you,” Harry mumbles into Louis’ hair when Louis settles down on top of him after.  
   
“Mmm too,” Louis murmurs, touching the spot between Harry’s collar bones with the tip of his tongue.  
   
Harry just holds him for a few more minutes, then takes a deep breath and says, “I also, that thing you did, the other night, holding me? So I couldn’t get hard. You could do that again if you want.”  
   
Louis props his chin on Harry’s sternum and looks at him with narrowed eyes. “Oh really?”  
   
He’s wearing his _I haven’t quite decided if I’m going to give you shit about this_ look.  
   
“Or not,” Harry says.  
   
“Oh no. We can definitely.” He reaches down to feel Harry through his jeans. Harry’s still soft. “Stay right there.”  
   
“Okay,” Harry says as Louis gets up. “Should I—?” He reaches for the button on his jeans.  
   
“You should definitely get naked.” Louis heads for the bedroom, and Harry shucks out of his clothes.  
   
He’s barely got his ass back on the sofa when Louis pops his head through the doorway. “Actually you should come here. Bed is better.” Harry is definitely not going to argue with that.

He’s not sure what to expect when he gets in there, but it isn’t Louis standing next to the bed holding one of Harry’s old ties from his White Eskimo days. Are they going to do a school-boy thing? Louis hasn’t ever seemed that interested in—

“You weren’t planning on wearing this again, were you?” Louis asks, cheeky grin on his face.

“Not in public,” Harry says. They both know Harry’s gonna wear it however Louis wants him to. 

“Good,” Louis says, and he crooks his eyebrow which is as good as crooking a finger to get Harry to come to his side. 

“How do you want me?” Harry asks, even though he knows he doesn’t have to ask; Louis will tell him. 

Teeth digging into his lower lip, Louis considers. Or pretends to consider. Sometimes, especially when Harry’s already come but they’re still fucking around and he’s half blissed out and half on edge, he can’t tell the difference. “Right where you are,” Louis says, even as he’s moving Harry a little bit, turning him so the backs of his thighs bump up against the mattress, and his legs are spread just past shoulder width apart. “Yeah,” Louis says. 

Harry keeps silent. 

Eyes on Harry’s face, Louis raises the tie up, makes Harry look at it with its blue and white and red stripes. It looks silly, wrinkled, ugly, and then Louis snaps it at his chest, like it’s a towel whipped into a ratstail. It doesn’t hurt at all, not enough weight behind it, but it gets Harry’s attention, and the tie doesn’t look quite so silly anymore. 

“Do you know what I’m going to do with it?” Louis says. 

“Tie up my dick?” Harry asks, though he’s pretty sure he knows the answer. Sometimes Louis likes it when Harry pretends he doesn’t know what’s coming next, but Harry’d asked for this, or mostly, anyway, so this probably isn’t one of those times. 

“Tie it up tight,” Louis agrees, reaching for Harry’s junk. “Keep you soft til I want you hard again.” 

Harry whimpers at that, and Louis better hurry, or it’s going to be too late. Louis must feel the kick in his dick, because he squeezes, hard enough Harry whimpers again, in pain this time. Louis smiles at that, gives an extra squeeze, and fuck fuck fuck, it cannot be normal to like his nuts to ache like that, but Harry doesn’t care because, god, he loves it so much. 

“You are a dirty boy, Harry Styles,” Louis whispers, and bites the tip of Harry’s chin, a sharp nip that makes Harry gasp. “Filthy.” 

“I know,” Harry says, voice wavering a little. 

“Good.” Louis licks the teeth marks, and his eyes go bright, just for a second, like they do when it’s just a quiet day and they’re doing something boring and stupid like eating breakfast or making a cuppa, and Louis will say out of nowhere, _I love you._

Now though, now he lets go of Harry’s bits and holds the tie like he’s about to put it around Harry’s neck, hands in the middle of it, a few inches apart. Except instead of his neck, he starts to wrap it around Harry’s cock and balls. 

They both watch what he’s doing, and ridiculously, just for a second, Harry hears his sixth form tutor saying, “Eyes on your work,” but then Louis tugs the second wind round tighter than the first, and all Harry’s thinking about is what’s happening to his dick. 

Louis is binding it all together, pulling it down as he goes, so it looks a bit like Harry’s got a badly wrapped Christmas pressie dangling between his thighs. When he gets to the tip, Louis winds his way back up again, and then ties a bow at the top, pinching Harry’s pubes and making him jump. 

“We might need to shave you, mate,” Louis says, but he doesn’t pull the caught hairs out of the knot, and they keep pulling every time Harry breathes. 

“Mmm?” Harry says, not even sure if it’s a question or agreement. Only a crazy person would let Louis Tomlinson anywhere near his tackle with a razor blade, but Harry is under no illusions about how crazy he is for the boy standing in front of him. 

Louis takes a step back, then another, admiring his handiwork. Harry’s cock stirs, trying to harden. It has a little more success than when Louis did this with his hand, but not much. The pull on his pubic hair makes his eyes water a little. It never even occurs to him to move his hands from his side to fix it. 

“Think I want you on the bed.” Before Harry even has a chance to comply, Louis reaches out and pushes him. Hard. Hard enough that he bounces when he lands, kicking the air out of his lungs, and wrenching out his poor caught pubes by the roots. 

In the last year, Harry’s got good at keeping silent if that’s part of the game they’re playing, but Louis hasn’t said anything about that today, so he doesn’t bite back the little cry that prompts. Louis looks pleased with himself when he hears it, and Harry feels his own mouth returning the smile. 

“Good boy,” Louis says. “Want to hear you.” 

“Can I touch you?” Harry asks. 

“No,” Louis answers slowly, like maybe he’s thinking about it. “No, I don’t think so.” 

Harry relaxes back against the bed, hands by his side, knees apart, and bent so his lower legs hang over the edge and his feet touch the floor. His cock and the tie and that feels strange between his thighs. It’s like none of it’s attached to him. Like Louis put something there between his legs, and he has to hold it where it is, or maybe like Louis is holding it where it is, and Harry just has to— he doesn’t know what he has to do. He doesn’t know. 

“Louis?” he asks, hearing the needy note in his own voice, wishing it wasn’t there, but he’s not good at controlling that when he feels this way. 

Louis takes a step forward and touches Harry’s knee. Just with two fingers, but it’s enough. The thread of fear—the not-good kind—unravels and flows out through his knee where Louis’ touching him. “You’re gonna watch me. Just watch me and do what I say.” Harry nods, hair slipping on the duvet sounding loud in his ears. “Good boy,” Louis says again, pressing just a fraction harder on Harry’s skin before he takes his hand back. 

Takes his hand back so he can use it to undo his flies, and Harry is definitely down with that. 

“Lift up a little,” Louis says once his flies are open, a V framing the bulge of his dick in his pants. 

Harry goes to sit, but Louis shakes his head. “Just your shoulders. Just enough so you have a good view.” 

With his arms down at his sides, lifting his shoulders means Harry’s going to have to hold himself up with just his stomach muscles. Louis is a fucking bastard. Harry does as he’s told, lifting up just enough so he can see his bound dick and past it to where Louis is edging his fingers under the elastic of his pants. 

“Need to work those abs if you’re going to keep your reputation as a heartthrob,” Louis says. 

And fuck him, Harry’s thing is his _hair_ not his abs, and the bed is soft and he’s sinking into it and he wants to pull his elbows up to take some of his weight already, and he wants to flop back down, and it’s only been like twenty seconds. Does Louis stay up at night thinking up ways to get Harry naked and torture him? Could Harry be that lucky?

Louis gets his hand all the way inside his pants, and Harry’s eyes fix on where it’s moving under the fabric, slow, lazy undulations like he’s just palming everything, petting it, saying hello. 

“Lemme,” Harry says, his voice squeezed by the crunch he’s trying to maintain. 

“Now, now. I said no touching. I know you heard me.” 

“Just—“ Harry breathes as deeply as he can in his position. “Lemme see,” he gasps. 

“Oh, you wanna see this?” Louis pulls his arm away from his body so he can look down past it and see himself still tucked away. “You wanna see what it does to me watching you there all tied up and helpless?” 

Harry wants to nod, wants to speak, but it’s enough work to keep his feet on the floor and his abs strong that all he can do is bite his lip and beg with his eyes. And jesus it’s so weird with his dick like a lump hanging down between his legs, not hard against his quivering belly, showing Louis how much he likes this. 

Eyes jumping from his own junk to Harry’s face, Louis uses his free hand to pull his pants down, catch the elastic under his nuts. His hand is still covering most of what Harry wants to see, but the tip of him is visible up by his wrist, and Harry wants to lick it so much his mouth floods wet. He squeaks when Louis edges closer, and a little closer still, standing almost between Harry’s spread feet now. 

“You’re gonna stay just like that for me, Haz,” Louis says, soft and sure. “Just like that.” And he takes his dick in his hand and starts jerking. “Gonna come on you, and then you can relax.” 

Harry’s whole body twists with how much his dick wants to get hard, making him look like he’s trying to sit up. Louis stops jerking and gives him a look. “No,” Harry says, forcing the word past the strain. “Fuck, Lou, _please_. Come on me. I’ll be good.” 

Slow, like he plans to make this last for hours, Louis gets back to jerking himself off. 

Harry gets back to trying to breathe. 

They’ve done a lot of stuff together. Spanking, and pinching, and clothespins, and smacking Harry’s nuts with a wooden spoon, and the time Louis’ belt wasn’t enough and Harry begged Louis to hit him on the inside of his thighs with the buckle, and it left a hard-edged bruise that lasted weeks. By the time Louis has a sheen of sweat on his upper lip, Harry’s pretty sure none of that hurt as much as this. His muscles are screaming, and he’s shaking, and he can’t find his place inside his head because he has to _work_ to hold his position, and he can’t feel _anything_ but his abs, and he can’t see anything but Louis’ cock, the blur of his hand working over it.

But Louis asked him to do this, and Harry is going to do this. Louis can’t hold out forever. 

“Ungh,” Louis finally says. _Finally_ , and he’s curling forward, hand flying now, and Harry’s brain starts counting the seconds until he can lay his head back and rest. He’s on two when the first splash hits, and he makes a noise of his own, more a sob than anything, and he tries, he tries so hard to wait until Louis’ finished, but it’s like the added gramme or two of jizz is too much, and Harry falls back, weeping in relief as his muscles let go. 

The shaking turns to shivering, same but different, and it feels like an elephant is standing on his chest, and Harry wants to look at Louis, make sure he did okay, but he can’t move. Then Louis is there, hands on Harry’s face, warm body pressed to his side, and he’s saying, “Harry, Haz, fuck, you’re so amazing, so good,” and the rushing sound in Harry’s ears starts to fade a little. 

Keeping one hand in Harry’s hair, Louis rubs Harry’s right shoulder and arm, a couple slow strokes, then brisk warming movements that bring the blood up to Harry’s skin. Harry leans into the hand on his head, tries to reach Louis’ arm to kiss it, but the angle’s wrong. Leaning a little gets him a bit of Louis’ shirt, though, so he kisses that, before collapsing, even that small movement making his stomach muscles ache and quiver. 

“Okay,” Louis says. “Okay. Let’s get you—“ He’s pulling gently at Harry’s shoulders now, like he thinks maybe Harry can get himself the rest of the way onto the bed. 

“Ha,” Harry says, but Louis tugs his thigh, gets Harry’s heel up on the mattress, and he can push like that, with Louis’ help. Digging in, Harry shoves, and between them, they get him up onto the pillows where Louis can pull the edge of the duvet over him, turning him into a pop-star burrito. 

“What’s funny?” Louis asks, even though Harry’s ninety-nine percent sure he didn’t laugh. 

“Pop-star burrito,” Harry murmurs, using his grip on Louis to roll onto his side. 

“You’re nuts,” Louis says, but he lets Harry lean on him and he keeps petting his hair. 

“Mmm,” Harry says, letting his eyes shut. 

But apparently it’s not time for sleeping, because Louis keeps talking. “Gonna untie you now, okay?” 

And Harry had forgotten. He has no idea how, and as soon as Louis says it, Harry can feel the heavy wrap of tie around his bits, but he’d forgotten. He feels like he already came. “Okay,” he says, shifting a little to make sure Louis has room to move under the covers. 

Louis does it by touch, reaching under the duvet and keeping his eyes on Harry’s face. Harry can feel the bow loosen, come undone, and then his balls start throbbing, distracting him from whatever else it takes to get his package unwrapped. He wants to rub them, cup his dick, can’t even tell if he’s getting hard like he did last time when Louis released Harry from his fist, but he’s not sure if— “Can I—?” he asks, searching Louis’ eyes for an answer. 

“Whatever you want, babe. Whatever you want.” 

“Okay,” Harry answers, and uses both hands to cradle himself. It’s not like last time. He doesn’t need to come. He just wants to hold on. 

“Good boy,” Louis says, watching him, tucking the duvet more tightly around him. “Good boy. Get you some tea in a minute.” 

When Harry falls asleep, Louis is still stroking his hair. 

*

 

The third time is two months later, after they’ve been interviewed by what Harry is pretty sure is every radio DJ in Australia, played six concerts in Europe, done a round of UK press, and been home long enough to unwrap the discreet brown-paper-wrapped package that came addressed to Harry while they were gone. 

He’d done research on his own first, before bringing Louis in to help make the final decision. Louis and Harry with their heads together over the laptop screen is instantly attractive to the other three boys, and Harry doesn’t feel like sharing his desire for a cock cage with his whole band. At least not before he’s actually _tried_ it. 

The one they picked is clear plastic with a tiny steel padlock, and it’s supposed to be comfortable and discreet under your clothes. Louis had quite liked the one that looked like an actual cage attached to half a handcuff, but Harry has a plan, and that cage didn’t look very paparazzi proof. “What if I want to wear it on stage?” he’d said, making Louis’ eyes go big and all his arguments dry up. He’d practically elbowed Harry out of the way to get to the _add to cart_ button.

They have two whole days to themselves, and Harry wants to try wearing the cage for the whole time. But they have to get it on him first. The trouble is, just the idea of wearing it gets him hard. Like, really, really, thinking-about-gross-stuff-isn’t-helping hard. “Do I need to get some ice?” Louis asks, but it’s not difficult to convince him that fucking Harry until he can’t get it up anymore will be more fun for both of them. 

Then Louis gets to do the ice thing anyway, because the instructions that come with the thing are shite, and by the time he’s spent ages playing with Harry’s dick and the cage, and then they’ve watched some helpful youtube videos, Harry’s got over his inability to get it up. “Your cock is a menace,” Louis mutters as he’s holding the towel-wrapped ice pack to Harry’s crotch, but Harry knows that look on his face, and it’s saying _your cock is fucking brilliant, and I love making you squirm._

Finally, they get Harry’s junk locked down. Louis puts one of the tiny keys on his keyring and lets Harry tie the other one on a string around Louis’ wrist. “People’ll wonder what that’s for,” Harry says, thinking he maybe shouldn’t like the idea of that as much as he does. 

“They’ll think I’m being trendy,” Louis says, flattening the key over his pulse point with a thumb. 

“A million fangirls wearing keys around their wrists.” 

“Ugh,” Louis says. “Don’t ruin it.” 

Harry looks down at the bits of metal and plastic keeping his cock locked up. He’s pretty sure nothing could ruin this, but he gets Louis’ point. “I think you should kiss me,” he says. Louis stops fiddling with his new bracelet and kisses him. 

And kisses him, and kisses him, and kisses him some more. 

It’s definitely not the first time they’ve made out while Harry’s naked and Louis isn’t, but with the cage on, Harry doesn’t feel the need to get Louis out of his clothes the way he usually does. He spends ages appreciating the feel of Louis’ arse through his sleep pants, the slide of his t-shirt over the skin of his back. Grinding on Louis’ thigh is just uncomfortable with the cage on, so he concentrates on Louis’ lips and tongue, on his fingers stroking Harry’s waist and pulling at his hair. He starts floating, and Louis isn’t even hurting him. It’s amazing. 

The sound of his name pulls Harry up enough to notice Louis isn’t kissing him anymore, that he’s propped on his palms looking down at Harry’s face. “Wanna— Harry, wanna fuck you like this. Can I? C’n I fuck you?” 

Harry tries to spread his thighs, reach down with heavy arms to pull his knees up, but he doesn’t get very far, because Louis is in the way. He wants Louis _now_ , needs to feel the fullness in his arse, the strain in his hips from Louis folding him in half and shoving in. He tries to say, but it just comes out a moan. Louis gets it though, or gets Harry’s needy body language, pushing up to his knees to get his PJs shoved down his thighs and reach the lube off the bedside table. 

“No fingers,” Harry manages to say while Louis is slicking his cock, and Louis doesn’t argue. When Harry gets like this he almost never needs any prep, even when they haven’t fucked in weeks, never mind when it’s only been a couple of hours. 

Harry gets his hands behind his knees and Louis helps him push his legs up, and then he’s there, looming over Harry, cock pushing at Harry’s hole, making space for itself inside Harry’s body. Harry’s trapped dick feels alien, like when Louis wrapped it in the tie, only different, and Harry finds himself caught up in the memory, curling up towards Louis’ flushed face, abs straining like they had that day. 

“Shit,” Louis says, smooth glide of his hips stuttering, cock slipping out of Harry’s arse, elbows buckling as he leans in to peck Harry on the mouth. “Just relax, babe. I’ve got you,” he says, kissing Harry again, hard enough to push his head back to the mattress. Harry relaxes as much as he can, and Louis tugs at his hips, shoves a pillow under them, and pushes back inside. 

It’s crazy intense. Harry can feel every dragging inch of Louis’ cock, in and out, in and out, can feel his own fingers digging into the muscles of his thighs, can feel the pull in his back, and the relentless tide of blood trying and failing to make him hard. The floaty feeling’s gone, leaving singing nerves in its place. It’s almost not even like he’s being fucked, more like Louis’ fingering him, rubbing hard on his prostate, full weight pinning Harry down so he can’t do anything but take it, except he’s also _there_ , got that gorgeous strung-out look on his face like he only gets when he’s fucking Harry’s arse, found that perfect rhythm that’s gonna make him come. Usually Harry would be jerking himself at this point, working to get himself there while Louis’ still hard inside him, but he can’t. He doesn’t get to come this time. Not unless Louis wants him to. 

The thought makes Harry groan, a long, low sound pushed from his chest that trails off high and broken when Louis starts fucking him harder, faster, short sharp jabs that rock Harry up the bed. All Harry can do is take it. It’s like Louis has him tied to the four corners of the bed, even though the only thing that’s bound is Harry’s cock. 

When Louis finishes, he collapses, panting and swearing under his breath, his arm dead weight on Harry’s chest. Harry’s arse feels used, sore in the way that always makes him want to touch it, feel it sticky-slick and hot. Usually he’s got a hand right there, wet with his own spunk, but today they’re splayed at his sides—one’s trapped under Louis—and it seems strange to touch himself if he has to actually make an effort. “Fuck,” he drawls, because _fuuuuccck_. 

Louis’ hand drifts down and he fingers the edge of the cage where it’s locked over Harry’s dick. “Yeah,” he agrees. He shifts enough to free Harry’s arm, and Harry wraps it around his shoulders. He kinda wants to beg Louis to unlock him, and he kinda wants to beg Louis to keep him like this forever. 

“Can we buy one of every kind on that website?” Louis asks, running his finger down the plastic encasing Harry’s dick. “Fuck.” 

“Okay,” Harry says. He thinks— He’s read you can get them custom made, and he thinks he might like that better. But they can buy as many as Louis wants. “Okay,” he repeats. He feels all jittery. Horny and satiated, stiff and loose and achy and perfect and all tied up in knots. He lets his free hand join Louis’, being careful only to touch Louis’ fingers and the hard plastic; the lock isn’t his to touch. 

“Can we— Do you want to maybe shower with me?” Harry asks once Louis has stopped exploring the cage and is just cupping it in his palm. A shower would make him feel better, he thinks. 

“Get you clean,” Louis says softly. “Then get you all dirty again later.” 

Harry likes the sound of that. 

*

 

The fourth time is nine days after the third time. Their PR team has decided to maximize the limited window to do US press before their tour starts by sending Louis and Liam to New York, Zayn and Niall to Chicago, and Harry to LA, to do the morning shows and record some radio spots before they all fly to Dallas for their opening night. 

Harry’s flight leaves first; the car’s coming for him at ten o’clock. Louis follows him into the shower, where he jerks him off while giving him a love bite right where the ink under his collar bone becomes a bird’s tailfeathers. When he’s finished drying Harry off, he carefully tucks him into his cage. “If you’re good,” he whispers, lips brushing Harry’s face, “I’ll take it off after we play Dallas.” 

“What if I’m not good?” Harry asks, because Louis might have something in mind that’s even better than letting Harry come after three days of being locked away. 

“If you’re not good, you’ll get a spanking, and I won’t take it off until we’re back in London.” 

Their North America tour is nine weeks long. Harry’s pretty sure he wouldn’t survive that. But he bets he can figure out a way to get the cage off in Dallas and still get the spanking. 

Especially given asking for a spanking works nine times out of ten. “I’ll be good,” he says, and kisses Louis’ smile.

 

It’s weird to put clothes on over the cage, but the reviews were right: unless he stands with his hips thrust forward, you can’t really see it. Though it’s a good thing skinny jeans are last year’s fashion. He’s got it locked with a plastic ring that won’t set off the metal detectors at the airport, and he’s got the padlock in his hand luggage. As soon as he gets through, he’s promised to go in the men’s and send Louis a picture of him changing the ring for the padlock. And Louis has promised to delete the picture from his phone, because phones can be hacked. Harry’s pretty sure when Paul lectured them about not trusting anyone with pictures of their junk, he didn’t mean the other boys. Even if that’s not the case, he doesn’t really care. Because, Louis. 

The journey is uneventful, though he does decide to sit and piss when he’s on the plane, because figuring out how best to aim seems like something better done on steady ground. He gets to his hotel two hours before Louis and Liam’s flight is due to land, which would usually mean time to jerk off, maybe have a nap, but that’s obviously not going to happen, so he calls his friend Roger to see if he can come get some new ink. 

Roger has a client, but Troy is free, and happy to do the butterfly Harry’s been wanting on his ribs. He wants the carousel horse more, but Louis is getting one too, and Harry’s pretty sure getting it on his own would count as not being good, so butterfly it is. 

Harry gets settled on the table, takes his shirt off, and out of habit, drapes it over his lap. Then he realizes that he doesn’t have to worry about getting hard, because he can’t. He grins and tosses his shirt on a chair. “What’s so funny?” Troy asks, giving Harry a smile as he puts the finishing touches on his setup. 

“Nothing,” Harry says. “Just excited.” 

“Gotta love a dude who loves tattoos,” Troy says, and prods at Harry’s skin with gloved hands. Harry closes his eyes and lets his mind go wherever it wants. 

 

The whole thing where he can’t wank once the tattoo is finished is way less cool than how he can’t embarrass himself while it’s happening, but getting to tell Louis about it almost makes up for that. Even though Louis and Liam are sharing, and Liam has made a rule about no phone sex while he’s in the room. 

When he gets off the phone, Harry spends a long time looking in the mirror at his new tattoo, and the old one made darker by the bruise Louis gave him, and his dick, held trapped in a cage his boyfriend put on him, tucked away where he can’t touch it. Not until Louis says so. Finally, he climbs under the covers and goes to sleep. 

There’s a moment of panic the next morning when wardrobe wants to put him in different trousers. Harry has a reputation of being easy like that, putting on whatever people want him to, but he’s watched Louis enough times to know how to refuse in the firmest way possible while still sounding like a nice guy, so he’s saved from having to stand around in his pants or put on the ridiculously tight purple jeans they want to see him in. He gets a couple funny looks from his handler, but charms the show’s hosts and the studio audience, and that’s the important bit. Tough part over, he gets back in the car to be whisked to the first of five radio stations. Luckily, no one cares what you wear on radio, even now all the studios have webcams. 

Evening means an industry party and getting papped with Selena Gomez, because she’s apparently been seen out with the wrong person too often lately, and Harry’s always good for getting a girl’s rumor mill headed in a new direction. Harry doesn’t mind, because Selena’s awesome, and she and Louis get on like a house on fire, so even though Harry makes sure they get snapped while he’s kissing her cheek, Louis won’t mind. And hopefully Niall’s over worrying Bieber will be pissed if any of them are seen with his ex. He has his car take her home, and then calls Louis from the back seat. 

“I haven’t left you for Selena Gomez,” he says when Louis picks up. 

“Of course you haven’t. Selena loves me way more than she loves you.” 

Harry grins. “True, true.” 

“Selena loves me more than any of you lot.” Liam’s voice sounds tinny through the phone’s speaker. 

“Selena loves Niall,” Louis says. “Weren’t you going to go find a vending machine? I want crisps.” 

“You want to mrrmph,” Liam says, and then there’s the sound of the two of them wrestling before Harry hears a door closing. 

“You alone?” he asks.

“Besides,” Louis says like they were never interrupted. “Selena likes big dicks, and yours is locked up tight.” 

Harry puts on his best scandalized voice. “You have no idea what kind of dicks she likes. Don’t be disgusting.” 

“Do too,” Louis argues. “We got drunk at that party last spring, and talked about sucking cock.” 

“Of course you did,” Harry says, laughing, and wishing just a little bit that the next time someone asked him what the best thing about being in the biggest boy band in the world is, he could say, “You get to talk to Selena Gomez about giving head.” Not that he’d ever do it, because it’s not fair to Selena, but still. It would be more interesting than the stupid answers he gave today. 

“I miss you,” he says to Louis. 

“Of course you do,” Louis says. But it’s okay, because Harry knows that means Louis misses him too.

Harry’s going to go into detail about everything he misses, but he’s derailed by the sound of the door closing again and then Liam in the background saying, “They didn’t have cool ranch, so you’ll have to take nacho cheese.” 

“You’re worse than useless, Payne,” Louis says. And then, softly, “I’ll see you tomorrow, Hazza, yeah?” 

“Yeah.” Harry can’t wait. “See you tomorrow.” 

*

The fifth time is the day after the fourth time. He gets his spanking and his orgasm after the Dallas show, and figures that’s that until they have some privacy again, but Louis pulls him aside back stage in Houston, and hands him something wrapped in a hankie. “Want you to wear it tonight,” he whispers. Harry doesn’t even stop to think before he nods and goes to find the loo. 

The sixth time is two days after that. The seventh, a day later.

Louis never asks him to wear it when they’re on the bus—the chances of one of the other boys seeing it, sitting on it or grabbing it are one hundred percent—but he loves it when Harry wears it on stage where he can make a game of keeping the boys away from Harry’s dick. His on-stage teasing goes from evil to diabolical on the nights Harry’s caged, and Harry can’t get enough of it. He also can’t get enough of the inevitable post-show handjobs, where Louis frees him and Harry shoots in his palm moments later. The other guys are used to the two of them disappearing back stage, and they never catch on that something’s different.

In Harry’s opinion, it’s the best tour One Direction has ever done. Even so, he’s glad to get home.

*

The sixty-second time, Louis lets Harry use the cage on him.


End file.
